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Description
The Phoenix Eye
Chapter 1
Strange Occurrences

-- Somewhere in Wutai, Present Day:

“It is here Professor Stian” A young man whispered.

“Shhh! Keep your voice down Samuru!” the professor hissed back emphatically as he strode briskly across the room.  “Do you want us to get caught?”

“It was your idea to break into a noble house in a land known for ninja assassins!” Samuru quietly replied.  It annoyed him that the professor repeatedly chastised him for his noisiness, even thought the aging scientist made a much larger ruckus.

“Well?” the professor demanded impatiently, his voice no longer quite a whisper.

“Here.” Samuru gestured towards a drawer to his left.  The professor clicked on a small flashlight in his hand and directed the light to the drawer before him, his eyes widening in satisfaction.

“At last the Sword of House Kisaragi!  And eighteen years after the death of Lord Goshen, here I am looking at the ancient blade.”  Professor Stian reached down carefully and withdrew the sword and scabbard from its resting place.  “Such a valuable artifact, a piece of history itself!  I am surprised they did not lock it up.”

“They did lock it.” Samuru informed his colleague.  Professor Stian targeted his flashlight to Samuru’s face, blinding him temporarily.  But Samuru did not need to see his compatriot to know he was annoyed.

“Since when do you pick locks?” the professor demanded.

“Ever since I found an employer who insists on breaking and entering for archeological purposes.” Samuru replied, a hint of mirth breaking through his hushed whisper.  “Couldn’t you have just asked for permission to see it, or do you actually plan to take it.”

“I am not a thief Samuru!” the professor replied menacingly.  “It is just that they never would have allowed me to conduct my experiment if I had come here under guard escort.”  Samuru raised his eyebrow in curiosity, but the professor’s light had returned to the sword and he didn’t see Samuru’s expression.

“What experiment did you have in mind professor?” Samuru gently queried.

“Let me see…” The professor began, his hands feeling carefully around the grip of the sword. “It started as I was translating the inscriptions in the caves up in the Da-Chao Mountains last year.  You see, the ancient people of Wutai documented their history in pictograms before the eastern people met them and introduced them to modern writing techniques…” the professor’s hands continued to move around the handle as if feeling for something the professor couldn’t see.  “The writings on how this sword was made were… cryptic, to say the least.  But, ah… here it is!” The professor’s face light up like a child with a new toy.  “It’s under the wrapping” he said under his breath, his fingers beginning to tug frantically at the delicate woven fabric.

“Here, professor!  Give it to me, you’ll damage it.” Samuru said while taking the sword from the professor’s shaky hands.  With skill, he quickly unfastened the base of the sword grip and began unraveling the silk cords woven around the handle.

“How do you know how to do that?  It’s as if you studied Wutaian sword construction.” Professor Stian asked in befuddlement.

“I’m just skilled with my hands.” the young man replied calmly.  “That is what you pay me for, you handle the science, and I handle everything else, right?”  The answer seemed to calm the professor, and by this time the woven grip had been almost completely removed.  The professor stretched his hand towards the sword.

“That should be enough, look for something protruding around here.” the professor said, indicating the upper portion of the grip.  Samuru examined the handle carefully; there was something different about it.  While most Wutaian blades contained one solid piece of steel that stretched from hilt to sword tip, this handle seemed to be composed of several interlocking pieces, and it was hollow as well.  Samuru’s hand slid over a rough spot that seemed to be a different material.

“Yes, professor Stian, there appears to be an object inside the handle.  Part of it is protruding right here.” Samuru indicated.

“I knew it!” the professor exclaimed ecstatically, before clamping his hand to his mouth in alarm.  He had spoken way too loud.  The two of them froze, listening for the sounds of the guards coming to take them away, or perhaps simply put them to death.  They waited long moments, before beginning to relax, determined that the sudden outburst had indeed gone unnoticed. “Samuru?” the professor asked tentatively, the quietest he had been all evening.  “Do you think you can get it out?”  Samuru did not reply, but began testing the components of the handle for a way to extricate its contents.  Several long minutes went by and Professor Stian began wringing his hands in anticipation.  Another moment passed before Samuru finally found the small switch that would grant access to whatever mystery they were seeking.  He had to use his jack knife to reach the small pin and slide in into the correct position, before flipping open the sword’s secret compartment and dumping a small black object into his open palm.

The professor literally jumped with excitement and had to clap his hand over his mouth again to prevent another outburst.  Samuru held up his prize in between them, the light from the professor’s flash light dancing over the glistening black surface.

“It looks like obsidian.” Samuru offered subjectively.

“Yes it is.” the professor confirmed.  “And in the rough too, I would have thought they would polish it up a bit… unless of course it is a decoy.”  The professor’s eyes narrowed.  “Quick Samuru, bring me my bag!”  The young man responded quickly, now holding the stone and the sword in the same hand, he crossed the room and returned bringing Professor Stian his bag.  Dust filled the air as the professor tore open the bag and began sifting through its contents.  No matter how often Samuru had cleaned the bag it always seemed to have more dust left over from the many excursions and archeological expeditions the profession engaged in.  The exact inventory of the professor’s bag changed so frequently that it always took the professor several moments to retrieve anything he had previously surrendered to its depths.  Samuru passed the time by remembering the few permanent inhabitants, books penned by the professor himself in a print almost too small to read.

Several items were now being extricated from the bag’s clutches and found themselves being placed on a nearby table, ironically already occupied by several priceless looking heirlooms of whoever owned this house.  Samuru examined the items with curious fascination: a stop watch, an electrical stunner, and a small cage holding a single brown and white mouse.

“So…” Samuru began. “What are those for?”

“To test a theory.” the professor replied. “To make sure we have the real deal.”  The professor opened the cage carefully, making sure that the mouse wasn’t going to try to escape.  He then grabbed the stop watch with his left hand while holding the stunner in his right.  He adjusted the dial on the stunner with his thumb and then extended the apparatus towards the unsuspecting mouse.  A pop was heard as the stunner connected; the mouse stiffened, and then rolled over dead.  The professor clicked the stop watch at the same time.

“I don’t understand…” Samuru stated slowly, “What are we testing with this?”

“Simple, a phoenix down or a revive materia can restore a dead creature to life right?” Samuru nodded in agreement.  The professor continued.  “But only if you use it within 30 seconds of the time of death.  This however,” the professor said gesturing to the obsidian rock in Samuru’s hand. “If my theory is correct, if this can restore life beyond 30 seconds, then we will know it is not a fake or a farce.”  The professor clicked his stop watch, an expression of satisfaction spreading over his face.  “That’s enough time Samuru, give me the rock.”

Samuru obediently passed over the small object to his employer, the stone strangely seeming heavier than it had been a moment before.  Samuru watched intently as Professor Stian held the piece of obsidian in his hand, focusing his full concentration on the lifeless mouse before him.  A leg twitched, the corpse seemed to relax. and then in a moment it was not a corpse at all but a live mouse again, wandering the cage with curiosity, wondering when next it was going to be fed.  The professor jumped in the air and clamped his hand to his mouth again, almost failing to suppress the giggle of success that threatened to unleash itself onto the unsuspecting silence.

“We’ve done it Samuru, we’ve done it!” the professor cried with exuberance.  “Let’s gather our stuff quickly, the Wutaians must know about this!”  With hands trembling in excitement Professor Stian began hastily returning his effects to his bag, but stopped suddenly and he heard the distinctive sound of metal sliding against metal.

“Samuru, what are you do…” the professor’s voice caught in his through, the air that sustained it having stopped abruptly.  Samuru was looking at him with a strange expression on his face, his hand extended towards the professor.  The professor wrinkled his brow in confusion, and then looked down to Samuru’s hand.  The legendary Sword of House Kisaragi stood protruding from the professors chest, its handle still partially disassembled, the silken cords still unraveled, and Samuru’s hand clasped to it in a vice-like grip as blood began to extend along the polished blade.  The professor’s eyes snapped up in shock and betrayal.

“I am sorry professor.” Samuru stated calmly.  “Consider this my notice of resignation.” Professor Stian’s mouth spasmed open and closed, as if trying to say something despite the refusal of his injured lungs to draw breath.  The professor’s eyes slid back into his eyelids and his limbs began to go limp.  Quickly Samuru snaked his hand to the small of the professor’s back, slowing his descent.  Gently and silently Samuru lowered the dying professor to the ground, in much the same way that a mother would lay her newborn child down to sleep for the night.

Samuru then knelt beside the late Professor Stian and cleaned the blood from the sword on the professor’s own pant leg, before efficiently reconstructed the sword’s hilt and handle to a perfect reproduction of its original state.  Except for a small black piece of obsidian tucked carefully in the murderer’s pocket.  Samuru meticulously re-examined his work, until he was confident that none would suspect the hidden compartment.  Finally satisfied, Samuru returned the sword to its sheath, and placed it carefully back in the drawer it had been removed from.  He then grabbed the professor’s dusty bag from the table and strode soundlessly from the room.

--------------------

-- City of Midgar, Sector 4, Some Time After:

“Hey Cloud how about this one?” a young man called out, pointing to a gnarled and twisted pipe.  Cloud picked his way through the debris to where his coworker was standing.  Cloud reached forth his hand and gripped the pipe firmly, his hand not quite stretching all the way around.  He gave a firm tug at the mass of pipe protruding from the pile of dust and concrete, and while it did bend toward him, it refused to dislodge itself from the heterogeneous mass.

“Looks like there is a lot of it under here” Cloud said aloud, half to himself and half to his observing companion.  “That’s good, this looks like a thirty percent alloy and we can always use more copper.  Tell the boys to dig it up, with any luck we’ll get all the materials we need before the day is done.”  Cloud then stepped back and stretched his arms above his head.  Pausing a moment from his work he glanced around at the other men with him.  A dozen or so men wearing hardhats and air filters were scattered across the wreckage that was once sector seven.  There was also an assortment of large construction vehicles here to aid in salvaging anything that could be turned into new building materials.

Cloud knew this place was dangerous.  He knew the hardhats were not just for falling debris, and the face masks did more than filter out dust.  Midgar had been completely evacuated for several years due to the strange illnesses that had begun spreading among the populous.  Most people blamed Shinra’s mako reactors for poisoning the land by sucking its spiritual energy from the ground.  Cloud, however, had always suspected that there was more to the strange illnesses than just the life draining reactors.  After all, Shinra had built reactors in many other locations, and while the machines churned out energy to fill the Shinra’s pockets at the expense of the planet itself, this strange epidemic had not been one of the side effects.

Cloud’s mind returned from its wandering back to the task at hand.  Regardless of the reasons behind the disease, the subsequent evacuation of Midgar was the cause of his current employment.  Demand for new housing was at an all time high, Midgar having previously been the most populous city in the known history of the world, and its displaced citizens were most desperate for adequate accommodations.  Cloud felt something firm under his feat.  He stooped down and fished his hand through the crumbled concrete to pull out a small chunk of twisted steel.  With a flick of his wrist he chucked it three hundred yards into the nearest dump truck.  This was his life now; constructing houses as fast as possible and salvaging building materials when the imports failed to meet the demand.

Clouds sensitive ears picked up a muffled sound of grating metal.  It was a significant distance off but his instincts screamed danger.  His mind instantly turned towards the safety of his co-workers, spread out distantly across the ruined section of the deserted city.

He heard the sound again and his eyes focused on the source.  Five hundred yards distant the foreman was supervising their crane lifting a large extension of steel beams out from a fissure in the ground.  Behind the foreman, twisted remnants of a forgotten highway curled in on themselves like an abandoned rope.  Caught between to cement pillars was the wreckage of a massive multi-axeled transport truck lay jutting out over the fissure at an odd angle.  The foreman had one hand gripped on the door of the truck, using it as an anchor to lean out over the fissure, getting a better view of the wreckage the crane was extricating.

This was bad.  The sound had come from the truck.  Cloud began to run.  “Foreman Johnson that truck is not stable!” Cloud screamed in warning.  The foreman looked up, his weight shifting slightly, and the sound came again, longer this time, and loud enough for the foreman and the rest of the company to hear it clearly.  The old truck pitched forward a few feet, dragging the foreman along with it.  He lost his footing, and barely managed to avoid plummeting down the chasm by grabbing a small cement outcropping a few feet lower than the one he had previously been standing on.

The foreman panicked, his feet digging at the cliff wall for a foot hold.  “Somebody help me!” he screeched in desperation.

Several men rushed towards the ravine to extricate their supervisor.  The truck groaned again metal scraping against metal as it slipped forward a few more ominous inches.  The workers froze, immediately seeing the danger.  Anyone caught on that cement shelf when the truck decided to fall would be crushed, the foreman included.  Another sound then caught the worker’s attention.  A pile of rubble exploded as Cloud burst through it.  It had only been a few seconds, but already Cloud had covered over three hundred yards, running as only an enhanced being could run.

The truck shuddered and groaned and slid a few more inches towards the chasm.  “Help me! Please help me!” the foreman screamed in terrified frustration.  The men turned back pleadingly towards Cloud, only to find him practically on top of them.  They sprang back reflexively, the wind of his passing nearly knocking them to the ground.  The truck groaned again and began sliding, but Cloud was there in an instant.  His feet planted themselves firmly on the cement shelf the foreman clung to, his hands clamping the underbelly of the truck in a vice-grip that creased the metal.  The truck rumbled loudly; cement grinding and metal popping, seemingly angry that it was being kept from its prey.  Then as quickly as it had begun, it stopped.  The metal titan lay still, perched atop Cloud’s Atlas grasp.

“Quick, get him out of here!” Cloud commanded his dumbfounded co-workers.  They sprang into action at once, clasping hand to wrist to extend a human rescue line to their wayward foreman.  With trained speed and efficiency they pulled the foreman to safety and out from under the threat of the hanging truck.  Cloud ducked forward slightly, and with another complaint the truck began sliding again.  Cloud shifted one of his hands further up the trucks belly, pulling it, guiding it.  With a final Herculean effort Cloud shoved at the truck, launching it safely over his head to crash into the chasm below.

Cloud sank back against the cliff face panting hard.  Gently he stretched his whitened knuckles, already stiff from his stunt.  Silence reigned for a moment, and then the gathered men began clapping.  Cloud smiled and jumped from the precipice to the safe ground where his coworkers had congregated.  Hands clapped against his back in camaraderie while the foreman surged forward to shake his hand.

“Thanks Cloud, I owe you one.” the man said with tears budding from his eyes.

“Anytime.” Cloud said simply.

“That was amazing!” another man exclaimed, “I never imagined you could bench a truck that size!”

“That wasn’t quite a bench press.” Cloud corrected the man.  “That was more like me guiding its fall.  Besides, that big truck must have weighed at least ten tons, and I’ve never benched more than four and a half.”  A low whistle sounded through the crowd.

“Hey guys, come look at this.” a voice called to the group.  The men turned towards the sound of the voice; one of the workers was standing by the edge of the cliff looking down.  Feet approached the chasm cautiously, while eyes looked on eagerly for the source of the excitement.  “There.” the first man indicated with an outstretched hand. “Something down there is glowing.”  Silence spread among the group, they could all see it.

“I can’t make anything out.” another man complained.  “Cloud, can you see what it is?”

“Yes.” Cloud affirmed. “It’s coming from the truck I threw down there, but I can’t tell anything beyond that.”

“That’s the color of mako glow, isn’t it Cloud?” the foreman queried.

“Yes.” Cloud stated. “I should probably go check it out.”  Several of the men had the urge to tell Cloud to be careful, but the words just didn’t seem appropriate after the near god-like spectacle they had been privy to a few moments before.  Cloud jumped down the chasm, falling several stories worth before landing as though it had been a few steps.  He walked toward the fallen truck with relaxed confidence, observing the huge gash that tore open its side, spilling green light across the shadowy ravine.  A shadow flickered across the ground, Cloud stopped walking.  Something inside the truck was moving.  Cloud glanced around him for some kind of weapon, and quickly tore a piece of rebar from the concrete beside him.

Three humanoid figures were crawling out of the wreckage, their forms twisted and bent.  Black blood oozed from gashes across their bodies and dripped noiselessly to the dusty ravine floor.  Of two things Cloud was now certain, first that these things were once human, and second, that they were such no longer.  The three figures glanced up noticing Cloud a hiss rang out from between envenomed fangs.

Cloud raised the twisted metal defensively.  “I don’t want to hurt you.”

The monstrosities caught sight of Cloud’s makeshift weapon and sprang forward, claws sprouting from their fingertips.  Bounding on all fours they hurled themselves at Cloud with lion-like speed.  Cloud swung the metal above his head before bringing it cracking down like thunder on the first fiend, splitting its skull.  A blur of flesh launched itself at Cloud’s exposed side before a booted foot sent the creature flying back into the truck.  Cloud continued the flow of his first stroke, bringing the twisted metal in his hand spiraling into the abdomen of his third attacker.  The sharpened end of the rebar embedded itself into the tormented flesh, and Cloud released it, allowing its momentum to carry the injured passenger back crashing against the side of the fallen truck.  The form collapsed, clutching its punctured chest.  Cloud’s eyes flickered to the lifeless form with the ruptured skull beside him, and then to the rising creature he had kicked away, the only survivor of his three attackers.

“You can’t beat me.” Cloud informed it, though somewhere in his mind he knew it could not understand him.

The monster looked down to its impaled comrade, then to Cloud, and finally back to the crumpled body beside it.  Without warning the lone figure flung itself at the corpse, ripping the rebar from its chest, and spraying black blood across the chasm wall.  Cloud tensed himself to fight, but his eyes quickly changed from determination to shock as the creature plunged the warped metal into its own heart.  A soft thud sounded as a third corpse fell to the ground to join its brothers.  Cloud stood for several moments in disbelief of the display he had just witnessed before a distant voice fished him back from his confusion.

“Everything all right down there Cloud?  We heard some noises.” the sound drifted down from above.

“Yeah I’m… fine.” Cloud replied hesitantly, not sure as to the appropriate words to describe his situation.  “I’ll be up in a minute.”

Cloud walked forward and ducked his head into the belly of the forsaken truck.  The smell of escaping mako was thick on the air.  The walls and floors were littered with broken pieces of stasis cells, many still attempting to contain the corpses of abominations long since dead.  There was nothing more alive in the truck.

A moment later Cloud bounded into view atop the chasm.  Eyes stared at him, thirsting for the hidden mysteries they were sure Cloud was about to reveal.  Behind them, the men’s equipment and vehicles lay abandoned, their purposes forgotten in the suspenseful maelstrom of recent events.  Cloud summarized, to the amazement of his comparatively fragile co-workers.

“There all dead, but I think you should call a clean up crew from the WRO anyway.” Cloud told the foreman sternly.

“You’re probably right Cloud.” the foreman responded before calling out to the rest of the men.  “All right wrap it up everyone; we’re not going to get any more work done today so you might as well all go home early.”  The men shuffled tiredly out of the city, exhausted from the mental enormity of the days unfolding.  “Ok...” the foreman said, his attention now back to Cloud.  “Let me buy you lunch, and maybe a drink.  It’s the least I can do after you saved my life.”

“Sure.” Cloud said smiling. “But not too late, my wife will be waiting.”

Description
The Phoenix Eye
Chapter 1
Strange Occurrences

-- Somewhere in Wutai, Present Day:

“It is here Professor Stian” A young man whispered.

“Shhh! Keep your voice down Samuru!” the professor hissed back emphatically as he strode briskly across the room.  “Do you want us to get caught?”

“It was your idea to break into a noble house in a land known for ninja assassins!” Samuru quietly replied.  It annoyed him that the professor repeatedly chastised him for his noisiness, even thought the aging scientist made a much larger ruckus.

“Well?” the professor demanded impatiently, his voice no longer quite a whisper.

“Here.” Samuru gestured towards a drawer to his left.  The professor clicked on a small flashlight in his hand and directed the light to the drawer before him, his eyes widening in satisfaction.

“At last the Sword of House Kisaragi!  And eighteen years after the death of Lord Goshen, here I am looking at the ancient blade.”  Professor Stian reached down carefully and withdrew the sword and scabbard from its resting place.  “Such a valuable artifact, a piece of history itself!  I am surprised they did not lock it up.”

“They did lock it.” Samuru informed his colleague.  Professor Stian targeted his flashlight to Samuru’s face, blinding him temporarily.  But Samuru did not need to see his compatriot to know he was annoyed.

“Since when do you pick locks?” the professor demanded.

“Ever since I found an employer who insists on breaking and entering for archeological purposes.” Samuru replied, a hint of mirth breaking through his hushed whisper.  “Couldn’t you have just asked for permission to see it, or do you actually plan to take it.”

“I am not a thief Samuru!” the professor replied menacingly.  “It is just that they never would have allowed me to conduct my experiment if I had come here under guard escort.”  Samuru raised his eyebrow in curiosity, but the professor’s light had returned to the sword and he didn’t see Samuru’s expression.

“What experiment did you have in mind professor?” Samuru gently queried.

“Let me see…” The professor began, his hands feeling carefully around the grip of the sword. “It started as I was translating the inscriptions in the caves up in the Da-Chao Mountains last year.  You see, the ancient people of Wutai documented their history in pictograms before the eastern people met them and introduced them to modern writing techniques…” the professor’s hands continued to move around the handle as if feeling for something the professor couldn’t see.  “The writings on how this sword was made were… cryptic, to say the least.  But, ah… here it is!” The professor’s face light up like a child with a new toy.  “It’s under the wrapping” he said under his breath, his fingers beginning to tug frantically at the delicate woven fabric.

“Here, professor!  Give it to me, you’ll damage it.” Samuru said while taking the sword from the professor’s shaky hands.  With skill, he quickly unfastened the base of the sword grip and began unraveling the silk cords woven around the handle.

“How do you know how to do that?  It’s as if you studied Wutaian sword construction.” Professor Stian asked in befuddlement.

“I’m just skilled with my hands.” the young man replied calmly.  “That is what you pay me for, you handle the science, and I handle everything else, right?”  The answer seemed to calm the professor, and by this time the woven grip had been almost completely removed.  The professor stretched his hand towards the sword.

“That should be enough, look for something protruding around here.” the professor said, indicating the upper portion of the grip.  Samuru examined the handle carefully; there was something different about it.  While most Wutaian blades contained one solid piece of steel that stretched from hilt to sword tip, this handle seemed to be composed of several interlocking pieces, and it was hollow as well.  Samuru’s hand slid over a rough spot that seemed to be a different material.

“Yes, professor Stian, there appears to be an object inside the handle.  Part of it is protruding right here.” Samuru indicated.

“I knew it!” the professor exclaimed ecstatically, before clamping his hand to his mouth in alarm.  He had spoken way too loud.  The two of them froze, listening for the sounds of the guards coming to take them away, or perhaps simply put them to death.  They waited long moments, before beginning to relax, determined that the sudden outburst had indeed gone unnoticed. “Samuru?” the professor asked tentatively, the quietest he had been all evening.  “Do you think you can get it out?”  Samuru did not reply, but began testing the components of the handle for a way to extricate its contents.  Several long minutes went by and Professor Stian began wringing his hands in anticipation.  Another moment passed before Samuru finally found the small switch that would grant access to whatever mystery they were seeking.  He had to use his jack knife to reach the small pin and slide in into the correct position, before flipping open the sword’s secret compartment and dumping a small black object into his open palm.

The professor literally jumped with excitement and had to clap his hand over his mouth again to prevent another outburst.  Samuru held up his prize in between them, the light from the professor’s flash light dancing over the glistening black surface.

“It looks like obsidian.” Samuru offered subjectively.

“Yes it is.” the professor confirmed.  “And in the rough too, I would have thought they would polish it up a bit… unless of course it is a decoy.”  The professor’s eyes narrowed.  “Quick Samuru, bring me my bag!”  The young man responded quickly, now holding the stone and the sword in the same hand, he crossed the room and returned bringing Professor Stian his bag.  Dust filled the air as the professor tore open the bag and began sifting through its contents.  No matter how often Samuru had cleaned the bag it always seemed to have more dust left over from the many excursions and archeological expeditions the profession engaged in.  The exact inventory of the professor’s bag changed so frequently that it always took the professor several moments to retrieve anything he had previously surrendered to its depths.  Samuru passed the time by remembering the few permanent inhabitants, books penned by the professor himself in a print almost too small to read.

Several items were now being extricated from the bag’s clutches and found themselves being placed on a nearby table, ironically already occupied by several priceless looking heirlooms of whoever owned this house.  Samuru examined the items with curious fascination: a stop watch, an electrical stunner, and a small cage holding a single brown and white mouse.

“So…” Samuru began. “What are those for?”

“To test a theory.” the professor replied. “To make sure we have the real deal.”  The professor opened the cage carefully, making sure that the mouse wasn’t going to try to escape.  He then grabbed the stop watch with his left hand while holding the stunner in his right.  He adjusted the dial on the stunner with his thumb and then extended the apparatus towards the unsuspecting mouse.  A pop was heard as the stunner connected; the mouse stiffened, and then rolled over dead.  The professor clicked the stop watch at the same time.

“I don’t understand…” Samuru stated slowly, “What are we testing with this?”

“Simple, a phoenix down or a revive materia can restore a dead creature to life right?” Samuru nodded in agreement.  The professor continued.  “But only if you use it within 30 seconds of the time of death.  This however,” the professor said gesturing to the obsidian rock in Samuru’s hand. “If my theory is correct, if this can restore life beyond 30 seconds, then we will know it is not a fake or a farce.”  The professor clicked his stop watch, an expression of satisfaction spreading over his face.  “That’s enough time Samuru, give me the rock.”

Samuru obediently passed over the small object to his employer, the stone strangely seeming heavier than it had been a moment before.  Samuru watched intently as Professor Stian held the piece of obsidian in his hand, focusing his full concentration on the lifeless mouse before him.  A leg twitched, the corpse seemed to relax. and then in a moment it was not a corpse at all but a live mouse again, wandering the cage with curiosity, wondering when next it was going to be fed.  The professor jumped in the air and clamped his hand to his mouth again, almost failing to suppress the giggle of success that threatened to unleash itself onto the unsuspecting silence.

“We’ve done it Samuru, we’ve done it!” the professor cried with exuberance.  “Let’s gather our stuff quickly, the Wutaians must know about this!”  With hands trembling in excitement Professor Stian began hastily returning his effects to his bag, but stopped suddenly and he heard the distinctive sound of metal sliding against metal.

“Samuru, what are you do…” the professor’s voice caught in his through, the air that sustained it having stopped abruptly.  Samuru was looking at him with a strange expression on his face, his hand extended towards the professor.  The professor wrinkled his brow in confusion, and then looked down to Samuru’s hand.  The legendary Sword of House Kisaragi stood protruding from the professors chest, its handle still partially disassembled, the silken cords still unraveled, and Samuru’s hand clasped to it in a vice-like grip as blood began to extend along the polished blade.  The professor’s eyes snapped up in shock and betrayal.

“I am sorry professor.” Samuru stated calmly.  “Consider this my notice of resignation.” Professor Stian’s mouth spasmed open and closed, as if trying to say something despite the refusal of his injured lungs to draw breath.  The professor’s eyes slid back into his eyelids and his limbs began to go limp.  Quickly Samuru snaked his hand to the small of the professor’s back, slowing his descent.  Gently and silently Samuru lowered the dying professor to the ground, in much the same way that a mother would lay her newborn child down to sleep for the night.

Samuru then knelt beside the late Professor Stian and cleaned the blood from the sword on the professor’s own pant leg, before efficiently reconstructed the sword’s hilt and handle to a perfect reproduction of its original state.  Except for a small black piece of obsidian tucked carefully in the murderer’s pocket.  Samuru meticulously re-examined his work, until he was confident that none would suspect the hidden compartment.  Finally satisfied, Samuru returned the sword to its sheath, and placed it carefully back in the drawer it had been removed from.  He then grabbed the professor’s dusty bag from the table and strode soundlessly from the room.

--------------------

-- City of Midgar, Sector 4, Some Time After:

“Hey Cloud how about this one?” a young man called out, pointing to a gnarled and twisted pipe.  Cloud picked his way through the debris to where his coworker was standing.  Cloud reached forth his hand and gripped the pipe firmly, his hand not quite stretching all the way around.  He gave a firm tug at the mass of pipe protruding from the pile of dust and concrete, and while it did bend toward him, it refused to dislodge itself from the heterogeneous mass.

“Looks like there is a lot of it under here” Cloud said aloud, half to himself and half to his observing companion.  “That’s good, this looks like a thirty percent alloy and we can always use more copper.  Tell the boys to dig it up, with any luck we’ll get all the materials we need before the day is done.”  Cloud then stepped back and stretched his arms above his head.  Pausing a moment from his work he glanced around at the other men with him.  A dozen or so men wearing hardhats and air filters were scattered across the wreckage that was once sector seven.  There was also an assortment of large construction vehicles here to aid in salvaging anything that could be turned into new building materials.

Cloud knew this place was dangerous.  He knew the hardhats were not just for falling debris, and the face masks did more than filter out dust.  Midgar had been completely evacuated for several years due to the strange illnesses that had begun spreading among the populous.  Most people blamed Shinra’s mako reactors for poisoning the land by sucking its spiritual energy from the ground.  Cloud, however, had always suspected that there was more to the strange illnesses than just the life draining reactors.  After all, Shinra had built reactors in many other locations, and while the machines churned out energy to fill the Shinra’s pockets at the expense of the planet itself, this strange epidemic had not been one of the side effects.

Cloud’s mind returned from its wandering back to the task at hand.  Regardless of the reasons behind the disease, the subsequent evacuation of Midgar was the cause of his current employment.  Demand for new housing was at an all time high, Midgar having previously been the most populous city in the known history of the world, and its displaced citizens were most desperate for adequate accommodations.  Cloud felt something firm under his feat.  He stooped down and fished his hand through the crumbled concrete to pull out a small chunk of twisted steel.  With a flick of his wrist he chucked it three hundred yards into the nearest dump truck.  This was his life now; constructing houses as fast as possible and salvaging building materials when the imports failed to meet the demand.

Clouds sensitive ears picked up a muffled sound of grating metal.  It was a significant distance off but his instincts screamed danger.  His mind instantly turned towards the safety of his co-workers, spread out distantly across the ruined section of the deserted city.

He heard the sound again and his eyes focused on the source.  Five hundred yards distant the foreman was supervising their crane lifting a large extension of steel beams out from a fissure in the ground.  Behind the foreman, twisted remnants of a forgotten highway curled in on themselves like an abandoned rope.  Caught between to cement pillars was the wreckage of a massive multi-axeled transport truck lay jutting out over the fissure at an odd angle.  The foreman had one hand gripped on the door of the truck, using it as an anchor to lean out over the fissure, getting a better view of the wreckage the crane was extricating.

This was bad.  The sound had come from the truck.  Cloud began to run.  “Foreman Johnson that truck is not stable!” Cloud screamed in warning.  The foreman looked up, his weight shifting slightly, and the sound came again, longer this time, and loud enough for the foreman and the rest of the company to hear it clearly.  The old truck pitched forward a few feet, dragging the foreman along with it.  He lost his footing, and barely managed to avoid plummeting down the chasm by grabbing a small cement outcropping a few feet lower than the one he had previously been standing on.

The foreman panicked, his feet digging at the cliff wall for a foot hold.  “Somebody help me!” he screeched in desperation.

Several men rushed towards the ravine to extricate their supervisor.  The truck groaned again metal scraping against metal as it slipped forward a few more ominous inches.  The workers froze, immediately seeing the danger.  Anyone caught on that cement shelf when the truck decided to fall would be crushed, the foreman included.  Another sound then caught the worker’s attention.  A pile of rubble exploded as Cloud burst through it.  It had only been a few seconds, but already Cloud had covered over three hundred yards, running as only an enhanced being could run.

The truck shuddered and groaned and slid a few more inches towards the chasm.  “Help me! Please help me!” the foreman screamed in terrified frustration.  The men turned back pleadingly towards Cloud, only to find him practically on top of them.  They sprang back reflexively, the wind of his passing nearly knocking them to the ground.  The truck groaned again and began sliding, but Cloud was there in an instant.  His feet planted themselves firmly on the cement shelf the foreman clung to, his hands clamping the underbelly of the truck in a vice-grip that creased the metal.  The truck rumbled loudly; cement grinding and metal popping, seemingly angry that it was being kept from its prey.  Then as quickly as it had begun, it stopped.  The metal titan lay still, perched atop Cloud’s Atlas grasp.

“Quick, get him out of here!” Cloud commanded his dumbfounded co-workers.  They sprang into action at once, clasping hand to wrist to extend a human rescue line to their wayward foreman.  With trained speed and efficiency they pulled the foreman to safety and out from under the threat of the hanging truck.  Cloud ducked forward slightly, and with another complaint the truck began sliding again.  Cloud shifted one of his hands further up the trucks belly, pulling it, guiding it.  With a final Herculean effort Cloud shoved at the truck, launching it safely over his head to crash into the chasm below.

Cloud sank back against the cliff face panting hard.  Gently he stretched his whitened knuckles, already stiff from his stunt.  Silence reigned for a moment, and then the gathered men began clapping.  Cloud smiled and jumped from the precipice to the safe ground where his coworkers had congregated.  Hands clapped against his back in camaraderie while the foreman surged forward to shake his hand.

“Thanks Cloud, I owe you one.” the man said with tears budding from his eyes.

“Anytime.” Cloud said simply.

“That was amazing!” another man exclaimed, “I never imagined you could bench a truck that size!”

“That wasn’t quite a bench press.” Cloud corrected the man.  “That was more like me guiding its fall.  Besides, that big truck must have weighed at least ten tons, and I’ve never benched more than four and a half.”  A low whistle sounded through the crowd.

“Hey guys, come look at this.” a voice called to the group.  The men turned towards the sound of the voice; one of the workers was standing by the edge of the cliff looking down.  Feet approached the chasm cautiously, while eyes looked on eagerly for the source of the excitement.  “There.” the first man indicated with an outstretched hand. “Something down there is glowing.”  Silence spread among the group, they could all see it.

“I can’t make anything out.” another man complained.  “Cloud, can you see what it is?”

“Yes.” Cloud affirmed. “It’s coming from the truck I threw down there, but I can’t tell anything beyond that.”

“That’s the color of mako glow, isn’t it Cloud?” the foreman queried.

“Yes.” Cloud stated. “I should probably go check it out.”  Several of the men had the urge to tell Cloud to be careful, but the words just didn’t seem appropriate after the near god-like spectacle they had been privy to a few moments before.  Cloud jumped down the chasm, falling several stories worth before landing as though it had been a few steps.  He walked toward the fallen truck with relaxed confidence, observing the huge gash that tore open its side, spilling green light across the shadowy ravine.  A shadow flickered across the ground, Cloud stopped walking.  Something inside the truck was moving.  Cloud glanced around him for some kind of weapon, and quickly tore a piece of rebar from the concrete beside him.

Three humanoid figures were crawling out of the wreckage, their forms twisted and bent.  Black blood oozed from gashes across their bodies and dripped noiselessly to the dusty ravine floor.  Of two things Cloud was now certain, first that these things were once human, and second, that they were such no longer.  The three figures glanced up noticing Cloud a hiss rang out from between envenomed fangs.

Cloud raised the twisted metal defensively.  “I don’t want to hurt you.”

The monstrosities caught sight of Cloud’s makeshift weapon and sprang forward, claws sprouting from their fingertips.  Bounding on all fours they hurled themselves at Cloud with lion-like speed.  Cloud swung the metal above his head before bringing it cracking down like thunder on the first fiend, splitting its skull.  A blur of flesh launched itself at Cloud’s exposed side before a booted foot sent the creature flying back into the truck.  Cloud continued the flow of his first stroke, bringing the twisted metal in his hand spiraling into the abdomen of his third attacker.  The sharpened end of the rebar embedded itself into the tormented flesh, and Cloud released it, allowing its momentum to carry the injured passenger back crashing against the side of the fallen truck.  The form collapsed, clutching its punctured chest.  Cloud’s eyes flickered to the lifeless form with the ruptured skull beside him, and then to the rising creature he had kicked away, the only survivor of his three attackers.

“You can’t beat me.” Cloud informed it, though somewhere in his mind he knew it could not understand him.

The monster looked down to its impaled comrade, then to Cloud, and finally back to the crumpled body beside it.  Without warning the lone figure flung itself at the corpse, ripping the rebar from its chest, and spraying black blood across the chasm wall.  Cloud tensed himself to fight, but his eyes quickly changed from determination to shock as the creature plunged the warped metal into its own heart.  A soft thud sounded as a third corpse fell to the ground to join its brothers.  Cloud stood for several moments in disbelief of the display he had just witnessed before a distant voice fished him back from his confusion.

“Everything all right down there Cloud?  We heard some noises.” the sound drifted down from above.

“Yeah I’m… fine.” Cloud replied hesitantly, not sure as to the appropriate words to describe his situation.  “I’ll be up in a minute.”

Cloud walked forward and ducked his head into the belly of the forsaken truck.  The smell of escaping mako was thick on the air.  The walls and floors were littered with broken pieces of stasis cells, many still attempting to contain the corpses of abominations long since dead.  There was nothing more alive in the truck.

A moment later Cloud bounded into view atop the chasm.  Eyes stared at him, thirsting for the hidden mysteries they were sure Cloud was about to reveal.  Behind them, the men’s equipment and vehicles lay abandoned, their purposes forgotten in the suspenseful maelstrom of recent events.  Cloud summarized, to the amazement of his comparatively fragile co-workers.

“There all dead, but I think you should call a clean up crew from the WRO anyway.” Cloud told the foreman sternly.

“You’re probably right Cloud.” the foreman responded before calling out to the rest of the men.  “All right wrap it up everyone; we’re not going to get any more work done today so you might as well all go home early.”  The men shuffled tiredly out of the city, exhausted from the mental enormity of the days unfolding.  “Ok...” the foreman said, his attention now back to Cloud.  “Let me buy you lunch, and maybe a drink.  It’s the least I can do after you saved my life.”

“Sure.” Cloud said smiling. “But not too late, my wife will be waiting.”